


No.24 Blindfolded

by LiGi



Series: Whumptober 2020 [24]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Blindfolds, Fighting Ring, Hurt Lancelot (Merlin), Light Angst, Whumptober 2020, damn it, no 24, these tags are a spoiler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28037046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiGi/pseuds/LiGi
Summary: Whumptober 2020 no 24 - BlindfoldedLancelot is forced to fight blindfolded in a fighting ring.
Relationships: Gwaine & Lancelot (Merlin)
Series: Whumptober 2020 [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053113
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	No.24 Blindfolded

**No. 24 – Blindfolded**

Heavy hands pulled Lancelot from the cell, dragging him along a corridor to a room full of laughing and drinking men. In the centre of the room was a large cage and Lancelot’s heart sank as he was pushed into it, the barred door clanging shut behind him.

He’d been a cage fighter before, and it was not something he enjoyed. Fighting for survival for the entertainment of others. A dagger was passed to him through the bars and a short staff. Then he was spun around to face his competitor.

The man was shorter than him but stocky, with long brown hair. His mouth was set in a grim line. But what struck Lancelot the most was the dirty black cloth wrapped around his head, obscuring his eyes.

“He’s blindfolded?” he said before he could stop himself.

“You got a problem with that?” a voice growled from behind him.

His heart was beating fast. He turned to glare at the ringleader of the fight, a huge man with not enough teeth and an ugly scar across his nose, standing with his arms folded outside the door of the cage.

“It’s hardly a fair fight if he can’t even see,” Lancelot muttered.

“I don’t care about a fair fight. I want to see a good fight. And that one” – he pointed to the blindfolded man – “is a good fighter.”

Lancelot looked over his shoulder. The man was flexing his arms, rolling his wrists to swing the dagger in a curve, his jaw set with determination. Lancelot sighed. He closed his eyes and shook his head, letting his dagger drop limply to his side.

“I won’t strike a blinded man,” he said, his voice clear and loud.

The ringleader gritted his teeth and clenched his fists as men around the room booed and jeered. He fixed Lancelot with a hard stare.

“Alright.”

He waved a hand. The cage door opened and a burly man entered. Lancelot raised his dagger, letting his knees bend into a ready position. But the man didn’t approach him, instead going to the blindfolded man, who flinched as his shoulder was grabbed firmly, his own dagger lifting to touch the arm of the burly man. It was batted away easily and the burly man ripped the blindfold off.

Lancelot’s opponent ducked from the man as soon as his eyes were clear, coming up bouncing on his toes, dagger ready to strike. He flipped his hair from his eyes and scowled.

“We’ll blindfold you instead,” the ringleader said, chuckling.

“No!” Lancelot backed away from the burly man who was now advancing on him. The man pressed him back until Lancelot’s back hit the bars of the cage and hands reached through and grabbed him.

He fought against the hands, catching several fingers with his dagger, blood spurted across his face. One hand fisted in his hair and rammed his head backwards against the bars. The burly man grinned, leaning forward with the cloth.

Lancelot glanced across the ring. His opponent’s jaw was tense, his chin stuck out mulishly. His scowl deepened as he spat swear words at the ringleader and the heckling men around the cage. His eyes met Lancelot’s with a flash of regret before the cloth was secured over Lancelot’s face.

He struggled and twisted, trying to bow his head so the blindfold missed his eyes. He kicked out and his foot connected solidly with the burly man’s leg. He let out a cry of anger and smacked Lancelot across the face with the back of his knuckles. Blood pooled in Lancelot’s mouth as his teeth cut into the inside of his cheek.

The blindfold was knotted behind his head, so tight he saw glowing dots dancing in his vision where his eyes were being pressed back. The bridge of his nose hurt.

“Is that better now?” he heard the mocking voice of the ringleader say in his ear as the cage door slammed shut again. “You won’t have to strike a blinded man.”

“You bastard!” was shouted across the room. Lancelot thought it must be his opponent, although whether he was shouting at the ringleader or Lancelot himself, he wasn’t sure.

“It won’t stop you though, will it?” the ringleader called to the other man. “Not if you want to eat today.” He laughed cruelly. “Come on now. Fight!”

Lancelot shoved the dagger into his belt, taking a two handed grip on the staff. He couldn’t very well wield both at once and he didn’t want to just be blindly stabbing and slashing with the blade. He concentrated on his other senses, trying to get a feel of the other man moving, trying to catch the sounds of his footsteps over the noise of the audience.

A solid thwack against his hip told him his opponent was using a staff as well. He slashed his staff down and across in front of his hip, hoping to catch the other man’s but he was met with empty air. He danced back a step, straining his ears for a sound of the other man’s feet. The swish of a staff above him indicated his opponent’s move and he just managed to get his staff up in time. The force of the blow sent him to his knees and a quick kick had him sprawling on the floor.

He scrabbled to his feet amidst cheering. The louder the audience were the more disoriented he felt. He couldn’t tell where his competitor had gone. He spun, holding the staff out at his full reach. The swing was uninterrupted. The other man had moved.

There was a tap on his back from the end of a staff, enough to sting but not hurt. He whipped around, jabbing with his staff. Nothing. The crowd laughed. Several more hits in fairly quick succession rained on his shoulders and sides. His competitor was fast and nimble on his feet, running rings around Lancelot. But never truly hurting him.

“Hit him harder!” someone shouted.

Lancelot’s heart jumped, he sensed the movement, felt the other man’s presence closing in. And then a rough whisper from the other man.

“Left.”

It was muttered so quietly Lancelot nearly missed it among the cacophony of noise. But when it was repeated a second later, instinct had him bringing his staff up to the left just as a fierce blow smashed down. The clack of the wooden staffs meeting elicited shouts from the crowd.

A scuffle of footsteps told him his opponent was twisting to the right. He followed him, landing a glancing blow as he darted away. A sharp strike to his thigh had him staggering sideways. He collided with the side of the cage, hitting his head against the bars. Hands jabbed and pinched at him, laughter filling his ears.

He lurched away from the side, wildly swinging the staff, panting. A smack against the back of his left wrist made his hand go numb and the staff fell from his grip. Snatching at it with his right hand he twisted, tucked and stabbed it forward, being rewarded by a grunt of pain.

Lancelot dodged backwards, expecting a counter attack, which didn’t come. Instead he got another prod in the back, this one right over his kidney making him jerk roughly.

His head was pounding, his movements becoming increasingly clumsier. He slashed haphazardly, whipping around at every sound. He’d lost track of the other man, disoriented and floundering.

“Here.”

He swung towards the voice and the crowd cheered as his staff made contact. His opponent grunted and pushed against him. Lancelot dropped his staff, grabbing for the man. He got a fistful of leather jerkin and a chain from a necklace. He yanked him closer. He didn’t need to see at this distance, trusting the swing of his arm as he landed a punch against a stubbled jaw.

“Ow! That’s it,” his opponent panted. The man bent in Lancelot’s grip, ramming his shoulder into Lancelot’s chest. “Give ‘em a good show.”

Lancelot staggered back, but dragged the other man with him, pulling his knee up into his stomach. The man swore, heaving and coughing. He stamped on Lancelot’s foot.

Lancelot was drawing his arm back for another punch when a dagger was pressed against his ribs. His hand froze.

Sudden pain and white dots exploded in front of his eyes, tears forcing their way out beneath his squashed eyelids. His opponent had head-butted him. His head was agony. He fell backwards, crumpling to the floor with a groan.

A cheer erupted around the room, jeers and applause hammering through his throbbing head. He curled in on himself, his arms trying to protect his head, to cover his ears.

Lancelot heard the ringleader laughing loudest. “Take them away!” he called once he’d finished chuckling.

The cage door screeched open and Lancelot was dragged to his feet. He stumbled and tried to walk as they pulled him along. A jangle of keys and a heavy iron door opening told him they were back at his cell. His wrists were manacled together behind his back and he was thrown to the straw-strewn floor, then the door slammed back shut again.

He managed to push himself into a sitting position. The manacles didn’t allow him to move much and he couldn’t reach up to pull the blindfold off. He tried rubbing his face against his shoulder, but the cloth was too tight and the knot too firm. He sagged back against the wall with a groan.

Another door opened and Lancelot heard the thud and grunt of a body being thrown to the floor in the cell next to his. Chains rattled and someone spat swear words at the guards. There was another grunt and the sound of a kick.

“Just ‘cause you won the fight don’t mean you can talk like that.”

Lancelot heard a pained cry and the slam of the cell door. There was a gust of wind across Lancelot’s legs from the grate at the bottom of the wall. Footsteps retreated up the corridor and they were left in relative silence, but for the drip of water and clink of chains.

“Bastards,” the other man muttered, spitting on the floor.

“Are you alright?” Lancelot called.

There was a marked silence.

“Who is it?” he asked warily.

“Your fighting partner,” Lancelot supplied. He heard the scuffle and clinking of chains as the other man moved closer to the grate between the cells.

“The noble idiot who wouldn’t fight a blind man?” He chuckled. “I don’t quite have your morals, I’m afraid.”

Lancelot shrugged, it pulled at the aching bruises on his side and he hissed and winced.

“I’m sorry,” the other man offered after a few beats of silence. “I had to make it look convincing.”

“Don’t be sorry, I understand.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you. Not after you refused to hit me. That was stupid, by the way.”

“Yes, probably.” Lancelot smiled wryly. He let his head rest against the cold stone wall behind him, breathing deeply. His head hurt from the tight wrapping of the blindfold, the ache heavy behind his eyes.

“Are you still blindfolded?” his cellmate asked suddenly.

“Yes. My hands are chained behind my back, I can’t reach it.”

The man swore again. “Here, can you get near the grate?”

Lancelot shuffled along the wall, the manacles rubbing uncomfortably at his wrists as he felt along the stone. When he found the small opening he lay down on his side, trying to position his head near the grate. He felt grasping fingers at his shoulder.

“Move down a bit.” He wriggled across the floor until he felt the fingers against the back of his neck. “Bit more.” His fingers reached the back of Lancelot’s head where the blindfold was knotted. He tugged at it.

“Ugh, I can’t untie the knot. My hands are chained to the wall, I can’t get them further through the grate.”

He kept fumbling and poking. Lancelot wriggled, it felt a little slacker.

“Aha!”

The pressure on the sides of Lancelot’s head loosened, to be replaced by a pounding ache. The fabric slid and light pierced his eyes, making them water profusely. He gasped and screwed them shut. When he carefully peeled them open again, everything was blurry and out of focus. The light – only a torch outside his cell door – sent stabs of pain through his head.

“Is it off?”

Lancelot rolled around, he could just make out the vague shape of the grating, fingers curled around the fine bars. Behind the grate was a grinning face. He tried to return it, hoping he managed a smile rather than a grimace.

“Thank you–” He paused.

“Gwaine.”

“Thank you, Gwaine. I’m Lancelot.”

**Author's Note:**

> My boys!!  
> Thank you for reading! I love any and all comments!


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